When Fishermen say Sorry
by keriilurve
Summary: Denny is angry at himself. He hurt Chelsea by something he said and he didn't mean to but now he's frustrated at himself. What lengths will he go to to apologize to her? And when he does, will she accept it? oneshot


**A/N: I wanted to write a fic when Denny was not so happy - after all, can anyone really be happy all the time. If he is then he really is the perfect guy 3 Anyway, I made him a little bit angry. Please don't hate on me for making him a bit out of character. Even though he's angry in this fic, I tried my best to keep Denny's little spark in his character :) Please R&R x**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest moon or any of their characters or settings.**

He'd never been angry before – at least, not this angry. And definitely not this angry at himself. Denny gripped his purple bandanna in his fist, ripping it off from his curly, chocolate hair covered head. Usually he had a bright outlook on life, cheerful and optimistic, but tonight, the sky seemed to mimic the way he was feeling; rippling with thundering clouds, darkening with shadows. His hand tightened around the purple bandanna, before throwing it furiously at the wooden floor of his shack below him. He paced the room, running fingers through his dark fringe roughly, feeling his forehead dripping with sweat. Denny clenched his eyebrows together, his brow creasing with wrinkles and he gritted his teeth before screaming out at himself. His arm lunged out and punched the wall and it felt like the wood would shatter into a million pieces before crumbling the whole house on top of him. Not like he'd care; he'd already ruined his chances and she hated him now.

"It's not fair!" Denny growled at himself, collapsing to the floor in a crouch, his hand smashed against the wall. The grooves of the wood indented against his palm and he drooped his head, brown locks falling over his tear stained face.

"I'm so sorry, Chelsea," he whimpered, the tears escaping from the corners of his eyes, wriggling down his cheeks, flooding them again. Denny let a whine fall from his lips and he scrunched up his eyes. He'd hurt her. He'd seen it on her face, and that image had replayed over and over again in his mind. The way her eyes filled with tears and her lips parted in horror; he really had hurt her.

A squawk sounded more like a bark next to Denny's ear as he slid his gaze to look at Popper's beady eyes, the bird resting on his shoulder.

"What is it, Popper?" Denny croaked, turning away so he didn't have to look his little friend in the eye. "I'm not in the mood."

The little, black bird ruffled his feather's before nestling his head into the crook of Denny's neck. It was almost as if the tiny fellow could sense how angry and depressed Denny was feeling right then, trying to comfort his master.

"Thanks, Popper," he patted the bird's head gently before straightening up. "I should really be a man and get over it, huh?"

The little bird shook his feathery head, squawking a disapproval and hopped repeatedly on Denny's firm shoulder.

"No?" he blinked, straightening up and eventually leaning his back against the wall. "Then what do I do?"

"Say sorry! Say sorry!" the bird tweeted loudly, puffing out his chest.

Denny pushed himself off the wall abruptly, causing Popper to flutter into the air, leaving dusts of black feathers scattering to the floor. He hovered in the air before swooping back over to his bird stand, watching Denny intently.

"What, to Chelsea?" Denny barked, squeezing his hand tight before releasing it as a weight fell on his shoulders. His face dropped and he let his eyes trace the grain of the wooden floor below his feet, letting out a sigh. "She wouldn't listen."

The sky cracked open, lighting piercing through the grey, angry clouds, shattering outside Denny's window and the light hanging from his ceiling swung with a creaking squeak, flinging light hauntingly around the room.

"Chelsea sad, Chelsea sad," Popper whined from across the room and Denny almost threw something at him, his body spinning round to glare down his little buddy, his muscles tensing as he forced himself not to cry again.

"I know! Don't you think I already realise that!" Denny paced the floor again, his footsteps echoing loudly in his almost falling down shack, as if with every stomp, he would split open the floorboards under them.

"Ugh!" Denny growled and hunched his back, his fist pounding against his forehead as he flopped his head. "I'm making everyone upset today." Sighing, he relaxed his muscles, his back aching from being so tensed up and his palm throbbing from the countless time he'd curled his fingers up and squeezed them into it.

He caught a glimpse of Popper's little form flutter across the room before landing on Denny's head, his tiny feet burying under Denny's thick locks. The bird pecked at a strand of his owner's hair, rustling his wings and cawing.

"I know, Popper, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted at you." Denny let his face droop before sighing and saying, "What's the harm in just apologizing?" His eyes stared out into the blackness outside his window, the waves gushing and splashing over the sand before another streak of lighting almost broke the glass. Popper shuddered before curling up under his wing and nestled in to sleep through the storm. Gently, Denny reached for the bird perched on his head, bringing him down and resting him in his cage. "I'm going to have to leave you here while I go and see Chelsea," he whispered to the little guy, his throat hoarse from all the shouting. "It's not good weather for you to be out." Denny's eyes caught another glance outside before thunder shuddered in the sky. "For either of us."

Grabbing his purple, checked jumper from around his waist, Denny swung it over his shoulders, punching his arms through it and zipping it up to his chin. It wasn't exactly the most storm worthy clothing he could have worn but, really, Denny didn't have time to kit up. He had to get over to that ranch.

Swinging open his door with a screech, Denny was hit by the enormous gust of wind that suddenly attacked him, rattling the contents of the inside of his shack. Stepping back a bit from the full force, and feeling the spitting rain on his skin, Denny threw up his arm to shelter his eyes as he lunged forward into the storm, having to use his whole strength to make any decent steps. The wind pulled and tugged and dragged his hair, while it whipped his clothes round and round, the material cracking as it began to soak up from the rain. His boots squelched on the sand, heaving his feet up and down and facing the full force of the wind. But he had to get there, to Chelsea, to apologise, or he'd never get any sleep tonight. And, probably, neither would she.

Denny was used to storms on the sea but right then, he didn't feel stable to face one on land, and his legs shook, almost giving way. "Come on!" He cried to the clouds. "Lay off! Just back off until I get to her! I need to get to her!"

The battle between man and weather was torturous and, although he felt solid ground beneath his feet when he stepped through the gates of the beach, the houses around him still didn't shelter his body from the attacking rain, like bullets. But he got there, eventually, hanging onto the walls of Chelsea's farmhouse with drenched fingers, clinging on for dear life. Denny rested his back against her front door frame and leaned his head back to feel the solid wood through his soaked hair. Brown locks stuck to the side of his face as he panted for breath, his body quivering with wet clothes that pinched his skin. Before he knew it, he had knocked on her door and was ready to collapse.

"Denny?" her voice screeched in horror as Chelsea caught sight of the man outside her door. Of course, Denny knew, she wouldn't want to see him. He'd hurt her and that's why she was so horrified by his presence. But he was going to say it no matter what.

Denny rolled his back from the wall to face her. Brown hair shone in front of the warm interior of her farmhouse. A fire flickered in the fireplace behind her, setting off those gorgeous blue eyes of hers – like the ocean. Her lips, rosy and pink. They looked like velvet, so gentle to taste. And her skin was pale, like wool, like lace, so soft. It was her who had him more lost for breath then the lighting and the rain and the wind all put together. "Chelsea, I-" his voice tried to say before her warm fingers grabbed for the material of his sleeve, sinking into the water, and pulled him into the comforts of her home.

"What are you doing here? And in this kind of weather?" She stared in shock at him, her mouth hanging open slightly and her eyebrows hunched in worry. "Are you insane?" Before he could get a word in edgeways, Chelsea had flung herself to him and wrapped her arms around his body. Her hair was loose, bandanna at the side of her bed, and she wore a light blue pyjama t-shirt and shorts with little, white clouds on them. She looked beautiful. He loved the way her soft hair glided against the side of his face as her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, clinging onto him; and the way she didn't seem to care about anything at all but holding him close. All he could do was be lost for words

Denny was taken aback, knowing he was probably making her night wear all wet, and it took him a while to slide his arms around her also, feeling her warm body and small waist. But he didn't hold her for long. He couldn't wait any longer. She needed to hear him say it. Taking her shoulders firmly but lightly in his grip and leaving wet hand prints there, he pushed her away from him, but only so far that he could look into her eyes.

"Chelsea," he started again, his stomach growling with waves of nerves and his throat clenching up, drying up, by just the image of what she might say to him. Coughing lightly away, turning away from her intent face, Denny began, "Chelsea, I'm sorry about what I said today. I swear I didn't mean it. I mean, I did but not like that! I didn't mean to hurt you and just the thought of you crying makes me want to... just hate myself!"

There, he'd said it. She knew now; and yet she wasn't saying anything. Even taking a peak at her expression hurt Denny's eyes – it was like she just stood there, disbelieving, shocked. Like he'd dare even apologize.

"Look," He tried again, tightening his grip slightly, firm but gentle, on Chelsea's shoulders and this time he was determined to stare right into those gorgeous eyes of hers. "I'm a good guy, you know that. I wouldn't want to hurt you, not anyone. Especially not you."

"Wait, Denny," Chelsea blinked, her lips still parted in confusion. She lifted her index finger to silence him, almost touching his lips. "What... What exactly are you apologizing for?"

Denny stepped back slowly, staring at Chelsea and raised his eyebrows slowly, squinting his eyes a little. His lips hung open partly and he felt himself blink over and over again, not taking in her words. "So... I didn't-? But... you were crying."

He heard her laugh then. A little awkward maybe, a little confused, but she bowed her head with a smile on her lips and shook her head. "That wasn't because of you, Denny. I- well, that was all me."

Denny stared at her more, not really understanding what she was saying. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice croaking a little but the weight on his shoulders ever so lightly lifting. Only slightly.

"I mean, I thought you were telling me.. well-"

"But I said that she was better than you!" Denny blurted out, confused and rattling with thoughts in his mind. He couldn't understand how she didn't hate him after what he'd said, after spending a day fishing with Lanna and then telling Chelsea how great Lanna was. He had basically said Chelsea wasn't a match to Lanna – to anyone. But that wasn't true, and he hadn't meant it that way. Chelsea – to him... she was the best. No one else could match up. "I don't understand how that didn't hurt you."

"It did hurt me, Denny," Chelsea turned her head away, crossing her arms and looking slightly uncomfortable. "But not the way you think."

Denny took a breath in and watched Chelsea slowly pat her delicate feet round the room. Her face looked thoughtful yet still beautiful with refined and soft features. Even when she was contemplating, Denny couldn't help but admire her appearance. And even more; her personality. The way she smiled when she was proud of her crops. The way she was friends with everyone and took the time to go out fishing with him even though he knew she had more important things to do. The way she just was perfect; so happy and brilliant; kind and caring. And the way, whenever he thought of her, he imagined kissing her and just forgetting everything else.

"In what way, then?" Denny gulped, daring to ask her before stepping forward and holding her still by her forearms, turning her so she could look into his eyes. "Why did you cry?"

She must have said it before she thought not to, taking no breath to think after his question. And when he heard what her answer was, he just stood there, staring at her, as if he couldn't believe it. And he couldn't. Because it was too.. good to be the truth. Too perfect, too... much of what he'd been hoping she would say to him ever since he'd gotten to know her. Denny stood in shock, still holding her upper arms, and hearing what she's said over and over in his mind, replaying on repeat, as he watched the swirls of her eyes dance around: "I thought you were saying you really liked her – more than me!"

"Chelsea," Denny said quietly, a small smile forming on his lips and tears pricking his eyes but not because of sadness or anger – because he hadn't hurt her. And more than that. "Chelsea, I- I don't like her more than you. I don't like anyone more than you. To me, you are... likeable over everyone."

He couldn't help but grin a little and she smiled back – but those words didn't seem to say what he really wanted to say. She looked almost disappointed, like it wasn't what she was wanting to hear. The floor patted with little drips of water falling from the ends of Denny's wet hair as he let his locks hang around his face; and his body was no longer shivering from the cold clothes stuck to his skin – none of that mattered anyway. He was finally getting to tell her what really mattered.

"What I'm trying to say is..." Denny said quietly, trying to make sure the words came out like he wanted them to. "I think I really really like you... more than anyone else."

Chelsea looked up into his eyes then, deeply, and her lips looked so inviting, soft and silky, as she whispered the words, "I think I love you." And then, before she could say another word, he had cupped her face with his smooth, damp hands, and he was kissing her. Really kissing her. And everything seemed to fit into place. The storm rattled outside as it relaxed, his lips tingled as her soft own moved against his, and soon her arms were around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. Denny held her waist as he crushed her body to his, so lost in the moment like it wasn't even happening. But it was, because he had felt the softness of her cheeks under his palms and now the warmth of her waist, and he could taste the freshness of her lips, like dew in the early morning, across the tips of the grass. He could smell her warming scent, so inviting and friendly. He could feel his heartbeat pulse next to hers and he could finally feel that weight fall from his shoulders. She didn't hate him, and he was kissing her!

The kiss broke before he wanted it to end, but he smiled at her, sweeping a strand of her brown hair from across her eyes, keeping her in his arms for as long as she'd let him.

"I'm sorry, Chelsea," he whispered, but this time, his lips were curved upwards.

"What now, Denny?" she giggled, pressing her nose against his and gazing into his eyes, her arms still around him and his around her.

"Sorry – for kissing you without permission." Denny grinned a little, feeling much more happier now, and much more like his ordinary self.

"Oh, that's alright," Chelsea chuckled in response, planting a little peck on his lips before pulling away softly. "I quite enjoyed it." And then she had pulled him by his hand and was telling him to undress in the bathroom because he was going to let her sleep in her bed while she slept on the chair by the fire – it was still bad weather to go back home.

"No, no," he laughed a little, taking off his jumper before handing it to her as she offered to let it dry. "I can sleep with the dog. I feel more comfortable with the animals." And he grinned as she playfully hit him before pulling her into a hug and wanting to hold her there forever.

"Course you do," her voice murmured against his shoulder, and he held her as she closed her eyes and fell asleep. He waited, gazing at her between naps, until the sun rose up from it's own sleep and it was time to slip out of the house and back to Popper and the sea – time to fish!

And he'd come back in the afternoon to tell her all about it.

She'd like that.


End file.
